


Child of Mine

by the trash hero (austinachievers)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Post-Game Events, Really really really slow burn, Slow Burn, blood magic probably doesn't work like this, but who cares, children through blood magic gone wrong, purely self-indulgent trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:32:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austinachievers/pseuds/the%20trash%20hero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were an accumulation of everything he had fought against. His father had only seen him as a means to an end, to make sure his precious fucking line continued through an heir. Now he had two, produced by blood magic no less. It was almost as Magister Halward Pavus had intended.</p>
<p>Cullen was already protective of the refuse of botched blood magic and it made Dorian sick to his stomach.</p>
<p>---------</p>
<p>Some blood magic gone wrong on the battlefield leaves Cullen and Dorian with a bigger responsibility than the entire Inquisition put together. However, just as they are settling down in their new roles, the world just pulls the rug out from under their feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Zero

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as self-indulgent trash that no one was ever going to see, but I've really enjoyed writing it so I thought I would share it with the internet. It seemed like your cup of tea anyway. This first part is really short, but they get longer after like the first two/three. Also, a cohesive plot begins to appear eventually, I promise.
> 
> Mostly unbeta'd so apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes.

The battle raged around them as the Venatori began to fall or retreat. Inquisitor Cadash, accompanied by Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne, had taken the path through the red templars and mages provided to them by the Inquisiton forces. Dorian watched with wide eyes as they disappeared inside the temple, following Corypheus and Calpernia. 

Dorian’s focus was drawn back to the last few scraps of fighting as a fireball sizzled just inches past his ear. With barely more than a flick of a wrist, he trapped the offending mage in a tomb of ice. The gesture had appeared relaxed, but the Vint’s chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. It wouldn’t be long until his mana was drained completely.

To his right, the Commander was standing his ground against a viciously bleeding red templar alongside a mage, a few paces behind. 

“Hey, over here!” He called over the din of clashing swords and buzz of spells. He launched a spell at the head of the red templar, charging over toward Cullen as fast as his waterlogged boots allowed. 

The distraction Dorian provided was just enough to gain Cullen an opening. He plunged his sword deep into the templar’s stomach and was rewarded with an inhumane howl. 

The victory was short lived as Dorian’s gaze shifted toward the Venatori mage. The hooded figure had drawn a vicious blade, and Dorian’s blood went cold.

Time slowed until each heartbeat felt like an eternity. He watched as the mage sliced at their wrist, the blood pouring out between their fingers and into the water. The cruel red magic twisted its way up the staff and Dorian’s eyes followed to its oblivious target. The Commander was trying to pull his blade from the templar’s stomach, his back turned to the spell barreling his way.

There was no time for a barrier.

“Get down!” Dorian threw himself headlong into Cullen, wrapping his arms the armored waist. They hit the ground, but the spell curved as if attracted to them. Dorian wasn’t certain if it was his death wish or some, brief moment of self-sacrifice but he kneeled protectively over the commander as the red magic struck his back. 

The mage bit back a strangled scream as his blood froze and then burned as if flames coursed through his veins. It seared through every reach of his body, a red glow spreading across his skin like fire. His vision blurred with tears, but through these tears he could see the Commander, pale with horror.

“D—Don’t.” Dorian tried to warn, but it was too late. A hand grabbed a hold of his bare shoulder, and he was forced to watch in sheer terror as the red glow of his skin spread onto Cullen’s hand.

In the flurry of fighting, the two struggling men were ignored. No one came to their aid. Dorian tried to roll away, not to crush the Commander under his weight, but his efforts were for naught. He collapsed on top of him, the red glow shared between them flared brighter and brighter until the mage could only see red.

The red twisted into a purple prison, a destroyed tower. Weeks of torture crawled underneath his skin: hunger, thirst, pain, withdrawal. These memories were not his own, and they began to twist with the ghoulishly familiar. Blinding, white pain flared in Dorian’s wrists, and he stared down in horror at the blood running down his dark skin like the petals of a flower. This was his burden. “For your own good,” his father’s voice ghosted past his ear, the sickly sweet prickle of blood magic filled his mouth and nose.

He was suffocating.

Then the terrible images faded, the pain ebbed away, and there was the Skyhold courtyard. Only a few short days travel from the muddy pit they lay in the Arbor Wilds, their insides being torn to pieces by blood magic. An easy smile stretched across Dorian’s face as he caught sight of Cullen, who sat waiting with the chessboard. A grin on the Commander’s handsome face with thrown his way, it was a momentary freedom from the pain, hardship, and loss they had suffered.

If this was death, Dorian didn’t mind. 

Except, the beautiful image was destroyed by a cry of victory. Dorian was snapped back to a harsh, cold reality where he was soaked; his bones ached with every slight movement, and the sharp points of the Commander’s armor dug into his flesh. 

When Dorian regained his senses, he felt something wet underneath his fingernails. He had scrabbled at the Commander’s exposed neck, desperate for something to cling to through his hellish nightmare. Long scratches adorned the sides of the man’s neck; similar wounds marked Dorian’s shoulder. 

His thoughts were disrupted as his heart threw itself against his ribcage, breathing labored. Something moved between them.

There was a cry. Then another.

Blackness pulled at Dorian’s consciousness as he saw the two, tiny creatures that stirred between their chests. “No.” Dorian felt his breath leave him at the same time the world did.


	2. Day Seven

Dampness persisted in Dorian’s bones well after their return from the Arbor Wilds. No number of hot baths could draw the cold from his body. That left him lying on his bed, in his thickest robes, shivering and wishing for the warm Tevinter sun. He had had enough of cold, lonely Skyhold nights made lonelier by his avoidance of the rest of the inner circle.

What happened in the battle to Cullen and Dorian had escaped the attention of no one. It was impossible to hide as the crying bundles had been passed from confused and injured person to another. The mage was quite certain he had been the only one not to touch either spawn the entire trip. 

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and Dorian slid out from under his quilt. He was pathetic, still in bed well past midday, but as the Inquisition prepared for the final battle, his services weren’t in need.

The mage knew he shouldn’t have trusted the Seeker. She had appeared at his quarters, sporting a rather nasty collection of bandages from the battle against Calpernia, and spouted some nonsense about Inquisitor Cadash requesting his presence. When he blindly followed her, she had practically grabbed him by the collar and thrown him into the Commander’s office. 

That was how they ended up in a tense standoff that Dorian had been expertly avoiding since dawn.

“You cannot be suggesting what I think you are. They’re—they’re abominations.” Dorian couldn’t believe these words were coming from him, but as he glanced down at the two, slumbering beasts, fury boiled beneath his skin.

To Cullen, they may appear to be two sleeping babes, but Dorian saw a different truth. A slap in the face, a punch in the gut, an accumulation of everything he had fought against. His father had only seen him as a means to an end, to make sure his fucking precious legacy continued through an heir. Dorian was useless, worthy of deceit and betrayal, if he refused to take a wife and reproduce as planned. 

Now he had two heirs, produced by blood magic no less. Dorian could have laughed at the irony. It was almost as Magister Halward Pavus had intended.

For a long, silent moment, Cullen said nothing. Refusing to look at the spawn, Dorian allowed his eyes to trace the Commander’s tense figure. His hair was in a state of disarray, curls falling on his forehead and into dark-ringed eyes. He sat in his chair, staring down at the crates that served as beds. His chin was propped up on his hands, elbows digging into his knees. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line, as hazel eyes refused to leave the slowly rising and falling chests. 

While Dorian was waiting for the spawn to spring forth and attack, Cullen was prepared for the moment the mage snapped. He may be dressed down in only a tunic and trousers, but his sword sat on the cobblestone floor beside him.

Cullen was already protective of the refuse of botched blood magic and it made Dorian sick to his stomach.

“I’m suggesting they stay in my care.” Cullen growled, putting emphasis on his involvement. His eyes flashed toward Dorian, hard and cold. “We don’t know how or why this happened, we cannot just leave them in the care of a stranger.”

“That was not what I was suggesting,” Dorian snorted, turning his back so he did not have to witness the Commander’s pained expression. He was being unreasonable and cruel, a voice in the back of the mage’s head tried to insist. 

This was the fault of a spell gone wrong, no one in this room was to blame, but Dorian couldn’t help the anger that boiled in his stomach. When something went wrong, Dorian Pavus only had to reactions: lash out or run away. As the first option began to lose power, the second became more and more tempting. 

There was a harsh scrape of wood against stone, and one of the monsters whimpered in its sleep. Coldness seeped into Dorian’s robes as Cullen pressed an armored hand against his back. “Then walk away, Dorian.”

The mage shivered against the words. He had never heard his name spoken so coldly by Cullen. Any warmth of friendship had been stripped away in that moment. He closed his eyes, and knew the decision was made for him. In the morning, he would make arrangements to return to Tevinter after Corypheus had been slain. He owed that much to the Inquisitor. 

However, he still had one last tactic to try and make Cullen see the error of his ways. Dorian doubted that he had ever been this cruel in his life.

“Those memories,” Dorian spoke without turning around. “Were those from your time at Kinloch Hold?” Cullen’s fingers sunk into his back like claws, a warning. He had crossed a line. “I felt everything. The agony, the torture, the world spiraling out of control. I know your pain and you felt mine. That is what those demons were born from.”

“Get out.” The hand sunk into Dorian’s robes, removing him from the ground and throwing him out the door. The mage stood in stunned silence as the Commander slammed the door on his ass. Muffled cries erupted behind him and disgust twisted inside him like black thorns. 

And he did just as Cullen suggested. Dorian of House Pavus, soon to be of Minrathous, walked away from what could possibly be his own children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaayyyy, another short chapter. From here on out, these should get a little longer especially when the central plot comes into play. Thank you to everyone who seems like this dumb little thing I am writing. (:
> 
> And if anyone's interested, you can find me at damndirtyblue.tumblr.com  
> I'm in a constant state of being a dork and taking prompts, so come and bother me please!!


	3. Week 5

His blood boiled, above him the mage’s face twisted in pain matching his own, both of them scrambling blindly for support, something to ground themselves to. The blood magic ripped at his chest, threatening to tear his soul from his body. Cullen’s back arched against the agony, squeezing his eyes tight as a scream ripped through his chest. Something gave a startled cry in response.

Blearily, Cullen lifted his head and sighed as the parchment stuck to his face before fluttering back down to the desk. He had fallen asleep, quill still in hand, and as he swiped at his cheek, his fingers came away black. 

He hadn’t been asleep long enough for the ink to dry.

A shrill shriek drove Cullen’s thoughts away from his ill-timed nightmare. “Oh hush,” the commander whispered under his breath as he scooped the offending crier into his arms. He glanced down into the other cot and breathed a sigh of relief, as his brother remained sound asleep.

“Let’s go out, little one. Better to wake the rest of Skyhold than your brother.” He sighed, carefully wrapping both of them in his cloak. 

A light breeze tickled at Cullen’s ears as he opened the door, stepping out into the cool, summer night. For once the clouds had disappeared, allowing the countless stars to dance across the sky. It would be peaceful, if it weren’t for the caterwauling creature in his arms.

“Enough, enough.” He tried to shush him, bouncing the child lightly as he paced the battlements. “I am deeply sorry for scaring you.” For a moment, he nearly regretted turning down the offer he received earlier that day.

The nurse he had hired offered to allow the boys to sleep in her quarters for a small raise. He suspected that this had been on Cassandra’s urging. 

The Seeker had been very involved from the day they returned from the Arbor Wilds, and became fiercely protective of both the Commander and the infants after Dorian’s ridiculous display. She knew about Cullen’s night terrors, and he was already suffering from a lack of sleep, he didn’t need two crying children heaped onto that mess.

However, Cullen couldn’t think of them sleeping anywhere but with him. They couldn’t be abandoned twice.

After another minute, the crying finally died down into loud snuffling, and Cullen noticed that he had been humming. The realization stopped him cold in his tracks and the crying began anew. ‘Do it again Cullen, do it again.’ He thought harshly to himself, a string of pathetic notes escaping his throat. 

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, but the tune started again as Cullen recognized it. It was an old Ferelden lullaby that his mother used to sing. The words escaped him, but the tune carried softly on the summer breeze.

The crying stopped again.

This time Cullen didn’t allow the humming to stop. Then he began to dance along with the song, his feet moving in slow, lazy circles as he spun them around on the battlement. Josephine had taught him this particular waltz right before the Winter Palace. He had fought against the lessons, citing the fact that he had more important matters, but nothing could sway their chief diplomat.

However, as he hummed and waltzed along the battlements, he was thankful for the lessons. The swaying movements had lulled the baby back to sleep. He nestled his dark head of hair into Cullen’s cloak, one chubby hand holding on tight. 

The commander slowly allowed his song to die away as he smiled down at the tiny being in his arms. Careful not to wake him, he lifted the child up and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “You need a name,” the former templar sighed, turning back toward his office.

It was both of their bedtime.

However, he hesitated at the door and glanced toward the tower. It had been weeks since Cullen had thrown Dorian out of his office. The mage’s bitter words had cut deeper than a fresh wound. He had seen the man several times in passing since, but each time they both lowered their gazes and pretended not to notice the other. 

The window of his tiny alcove stood out against the dark stone of the tower. Even from this distance, Cullen could see the soft twinkle of candlelight. And for a moment, he hoped that the wind carried the cries and his song to the mage. 

“He heard,”

Cullen whirled around, instinctively clutching the babe to his chest. Cole stood behind him, bouncing on his heels as his gaze was locked on the baby. The spirit had visited Cullen’s office many times since their return from the Arbor Wilds. He would watch over their cots, but refused to touch them. “Too delicate. I might break them.” Cole would say each time Cullen offered to let him hold one.

“Dorian?”

Cole nodded, taking a cautious step forward. A peaceful smile crossed his face and when Cullen didn’t back away, the spirit touched the child’s hair gently. “He hears a lot. He cares a lot too, but it is easier not to care, but it still hurts. I have tried to help but—“ the spirit sighed, tilting his hat back to glance toward the tower.

The candles had been blown out.

“He won’t let you?”

Cole shook his head. “Dorian doesn’t like it when I help. He has too much hurt that I cannot heal.”

Cullen smiled sadly and glanced down at the bundle in his arms. The baby snuffled as Cole pulled his hand away.

“I think he needs someone else to help him. Like you, Commander.”

“I don’t think he wants my help.”

Cole suddenly held his gaze like an unblinking deer caught in firelight. “You’re wrong.” His eyes drifted back toward the baby. “They need names. I can help. The kitchen people seem to think my name is Odd. Maybe you can use that. Sounds nice. Odd.”

Cullen chuckled. “I don’t know about that Cole. I’ll think about it.”

The spirit nodded sagely. “You should take him back now. He is cold. Goodnight, Cullen.”

As if on cue, the babe whimpered and snuggled deeper in Cullen’s cloak. The Commander was about to thank the spirit, but he had already disappeared. “Goodnight, kid.” He said to the empty night air before ducking back into his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally wasn't supposed to exist, but I thought Cullen decided his POV to be shown at this point. He's also super cute dad okay? He has to be. 
> 
> Also, since most of these are going to be one-shots, I'm taking prompts for some chapters! If there's anything specific you would want to see, don't be afraid to send them to me on tumblr: damndirtyblue.tumblr.com


	4. Week 7

“Dorian.” He was lost in a fog of alcohol. “Dorian!” the voice snapped, slashing through the thickness like a bright light. The mage squinted down at the Inquisitor over the rim of his wine glass. Still clad in her armor, the dwarf warrior plopped herself into the chair next to him, arms crossed against her chest. “You do not seem to be in a celebrating mood.”

The mage snorted, stormy eyes locked on the rippling red liquid in his hands. “Just getting in one last decent drink before my journey home.”

Mal sighed, shaking her head. “Fleeing would be a better word.”

“Corypheus is dead!” Dorian threw his arms; wine sloshing over the rim of his glass and onto his hand. “Everyone is safe, and Thedas is at peace. Hoorah.” The sentiment fell from his mouth with a bitter taste. “What further use am I here? I need Tevinter, and she needs me.”

He took a long drink from his glass. There was no sting. He needed something stronger. The entire time he felt the dwarf’s eyes burning into him, whether it was from pity or anger, the mage wasn’t sure.

“Josie and I would kill for the chance you and Cullen have.”

Dorian choked, spluttering wine across the tablecloth. It certainly had a sting when it was in his nose. Words swirled in a violent haze in his mind; he was unable to grasp them before they wiggled out from between his fingers. What chance? To live with the consequences of blood magic, to know that two beasts were spawned from joint suffering, for a friendship to crumble underneath one cold moment? 

Josephine and Mal were an unbreakable, unchallengeable love that was obvious to anyone that gazed upon them for only a moment. They had something that Dorian had desired his entire life, but never deserved. Will never deserve.

To even suggest that him and Cullen—No, it was nonsense. Beyond Dorian’s meaningless flirting and the occasional blush in response from Cullen over chess, there had been nothing between them. No matter how many times Dorian had considered it in moments of weakness changed that.

“You’re absolutely blind, Dorian.” The Inquisitor snorted, placing a hand on his arm to guide his glass back to the table. “Come with me,”

“Josie will be waiting for you.” The protest was weak, so he did not resist further as the tiny dwarf managed to haul his drunken self to his feet. 

“She can wait. This cannot.”

It ended up waiting as the Inquisitor dodged the various partygoers eager to express their gratitude for her saving the world. It was enough time that the moment they escaped outside onto the battlements, Dorian froze. He knew exactly where they were going.

He refused to take another step.

“Don’t make me carry you,” Mal threatened and Dorian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“Cullen would have your head for this,” he said quietly. “How do you know I won’t—“

“Hurt them? Because Dorian, I know you. You may try to play up the scary, Tevinter magister act, but it doesn’t work on me.” With a hard shove, Dorian stumbled the first few steps toward Cullen’s office. 

“But he will—“

“Trust me. If you feel nothing after this, he will never need to know.” 

There was a short gasp as Mal pushed open the door. The nurse Cullen had hired was hovering over one of the cots, her eyes widening at the sight of the Inquisitor. Dorian sighed and shook his head, the bundle of nerves in his chest loosening slightly. He had momentarily forgotten that Cullen was still in the main hall attending to party guests.

“Your worship,” the nurse dipped into a bow, her voice trembling. “I did not expect you.”

“It’s quite alright. Cullen asked us to check up on the little ones.” The lie fell from her lips with ease as she waltzed across the room, crouching beside one of the cots. Dorian was rooted to the spot as he watched the dwarf remove her gloves and gently lowered her hand inside.

“They are both finally sleeping.” The nurse hopped from foot to foot, watching the inquisitor’s arm warily. “I have cared for many children, but these two are, at times, completely unreasonable.”

Mal chuckled and Dorian went hot in the face. “Sounds like someone I know.”

There was a blast of cool air from the hole in the ceiling, and almost everyone in the room gave an involuntary shiver. The nurse frowned up at it. “I told the Commander to get that blasted hole fixed. Pardon my language,”

Mal waved a hand, her eyes never leaving the cot.

“I was about to fetch more blankets. I hope I do not ask too much if you would mind watching over them for a moment, Inquisitor?”

The dwarf grinned. “I am certain I can manage.”

The nurse gave another brief bow before sidestepping around Dorian and disappearing out the door. 

“They’re sleeping Dorian. Also, I believe they don’t have any teeth.” Mal said once the door closed behind the nurse. 

“I am happy at this distance, thank you.” He waved dismissively, but recognized his mistake as the inquisitor sprang to her feet and snaked an arm around his waist. She dragged him forward with each step until they both stood above the cots. Dorian kept his eyes stubbornly on the wall in front of him.

If he did not acknowledge them, he could pretend the abominations did not exist.

Tomorrow morning, he would be on the ship back to Tevinter and he would never need to think about this mess again. Cullen had chosen his fate and he had chosen his, there was nothing left to consider.

“The Commander hasn’t given them names yet, you know?” Mal broke the silence, crouching down once more. “I think he still hopes you will change your mind.”

“And I think you are wrong. The Commander is simply an indecisive man.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“I made my decision weeks ago, Inquisitor.”

Mal huffed. “Then I propose a bet.” Dorian remained silent, but quirked an eyebrow. He was listening. “Come sit beside me for ten minutes. Allow me your hands to do as I wish, and if you still leave in the morning, I will never mention this night again.”

Dorian snorted. What an absurd proposition. “And what do you gain if I stay?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

A gut-wrenching combination of his natural competitiveness, mild drunkenness, and morbid curiosity eventually won over the mage. He crouched down beside the dwarf, offering his hands to her, but childishly closed his eyes. He was going to win this bet yet.

He heard Mal chuckle, and gently take his wrists. She guided his right hand until he touched something warm that rose steadily up and down. Soft breath tickled his knuckles and snaked underneath his rings. 

His left hand moved higher, his palm cupping the round, soft skin of a face. A lock of kitten-soft hair twisted around his little finger and before Dorian could react, he felt his thumb began to delicately brush against the little one’s cheek.

Dorian slowly opened one eye and then the other, breath catching in his chest. 

At first, his eyes wandered down his arm to his right hand. His fingers rested gently on the swaddled chest of the first child. His skin was dark, rich like Dorian’s own with fine, wispy black hair on his head. A single beauty mark, identical to his, graced the baby’s cheek. However, that was where the similarities ended. From there, the child resembled Cullen with a strong chin and wide chest.

“He’s looks like a warrior,” the mage found the words escaping his mouth with a fond chuckle before he could stop them. As Dorian tried to take his hand away, practically sick from the wave of compassion that threatened to overtake him, the babe stirred with a cry until the hand returned.

The other child was much smaller and at first, did not appear to resemble either of them. Dorian traced his thumb again across the soft skin of the child’s cheek, tracing over a faint trail of freckles.

“Cullen has had them outside?” Dorian muttered.

“Well, he was doing something when you were locked away in the library.” Mal said, her hands still hovering above Dorian’s wrists. He was uncertain whether it was to keep his hands in place or to be prepared for the moment he lost it.

The longer Dorian stared at the second babe; the similarities between their faces became more evident. He possessed some of the more delicate Pavus features except for Cullen’s absurdly long nose. Poor child. His eyes traveled to the delicate mess of ringlets on the child’s head, the color of crushed cinnamon. “Cullen never mentioned any redheads in his family.” A smile forced its way onto Dorian’s face against his will. 

The door opened with a flutter of cold wind, blankets piled high in the nurse’s arms. Dorian’s hands flew back to his chest as if he had been touching flames. The larger of the two boys caterwauled at the sudden lack of contact and the nurse hurried forward, throwing a glare at Dorian.

“Do you need any further assistance?” Mal asked with a smile, and the nurse shook her head, already busying herself with calming the crying child. 

Dorian followed the Inquisitor out of Cullen’s office like a lost dog, too many emotions swirling in his semi-sober head. She turned to him, and for a long moment they remained silent as she seemed to examine him. “I’m headed back to the festivities. Are you coming or—?”

The mage rubbed at his face, not caring if the kohl around his eyes smudged. He drew a heavy breath. “No, I believe not. I have a journey to prepare for in the morning. Have a wonderful evening, Inquisitor.”

“Goodnight Dorian.” Mal waved over her shoulder as she turned back toward the main hall. He could practically feel her smile.

The morning came to Dorian in the form of a foggy head. His only desire was to burrow further into his pillows and forget the world existed. He cracked a single eye open, watching the lazy shaft of light filter in between his curtains.

That should have been his cue to get up. He needed to be in his traveling clothes, pack his last few belongings, and fetch a horse from the stables to begin his journey north. Yet, he remained stuck in bed. A crippling sense of paralysis fell over him and the mage could only curl in on himself.

In one blinding moment, he realized that he wasn’t ready to leave. Not at this moment. His hands practically burned from the memory of last night, the life that had been underneath his palms that belonged to him, in a sense. If he left for Tevinter now, he would never see them again and his chest threatened to collapse underneath the dread of that thought. 

Dorian was unsure of how long he had remained unmoving, trapped in an unfamiliar world of indecision when there was a knock at his door.

“What?” he snapped, throwing the blankets over his head. The door creaked open, and he didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Am I to understand that I have won the bet?”

“Fasta vaas!” Mal chuckled, and Dorian heard the door closing slowly. “Go away you damned dwarf.”


	5. Week 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've had half of this chapter written for a solid week and a half before I could finish it tonight. I actually already have most the next part written so I'll post that in the next few days.

The collection of books on blood magic in Skyhold’s library had already been thin before volumes mysteriously started to disappear one by one. Dorian got the impression that someone was playing a cruel trick on him. 

Each time he returned from the string of diplomacy trips in which the Inquisitor insisted taking him on, he would find gaps where someone had snatched a book with little consideration for the shelf’s organization. And, with a closer look, Dorian began to realize these particular missing books were about blood magic.

Then, books on magical theory began to disappear without warning. The mage huffed in annoyance as he crouched down, seeking a tome he knew had his notes, only to find it missing as well.

“Helisma!” Dorian called out from his alcove, desperately trying to mask the irritation in his voice. If anyone had seen Dorian’s book thief, it would be the Inquisition’s researcher. She rarely left the walls of the library.

When there was no response, the mage stalked over to her worktable. “Helisma,” he drew her attention, trying to keep his words calm.

“Lord Pavus?” If tranquil could feel annoyance, then Dorian would have seen it on her face. “If you require my assistance, saying my name from across the library is ineffectual.”

“Noted.” Dorian waved a hand dismissively. “Have you seen anyone taking books lately? I’ve noticed a few texts have gone missing—“

Helisma blinked slowly, as if going over the library’s visitors over the past few days. Finally, she seemed to settle on an answer. “The Commander comes here often, always when you are away. He has left with books more often than not.”

“The Commander?” Dorian stifled a nervous laugh at the mention of Cullen. “Perish the thought, you must be mistaken. Why would he need books on magical theory? He wouldn’t understand a single word.” The mage tried to chuckle, but his thoughts raced as he answered his own question.

Cullen had quite obvious reasons to steal such books. Reasons that Dorian spent too much of his time chasing to the back of his mind. He had rationalized his staying in Skyhold a multitude of ways, Dorian had argued to himself many times; it wasn’t for this one reason alone. Right?

Utter poppycock.

“If you are seeking your missing tomes, Lord Pavus, I would suggest asking the Commander.” Helisma concluded, her eyes returning to her work without another word.

“Right,” A heavy sigh carried the word. “I better deal with this,” he said, pretending that the researcher was still listening. He definitely was not talking to himself. Not in the slightest. 

Each step toward the Commander’s office was weighed down with stones. Dorian rubbed against the gooseflesh on his arms. He wanted to blame the wind, but the air was damp with summer humidity. Back in Tevinter, this would be a mildly pleasant day, so there was no reason for the shiver down his spine.

While he had come to terms with the children not being demon spawn, it did not mean he wanted to be in their presence. Yet, he stood at the Commander’s door and gave a curt knock before entering.

Immediately, his ears were assaulted by shrieking. A frantic Cullen paced around the room, desperately trying to balance one red-faced screamer on his hip while the other one had a death grip on a thick, blonde curl. 

Dorian immediately spotted the collection of stolen books that sat in crooked stacks on the Commander’s desk. One notoriously dry tome sat open in the middle, Dorian’s notes clear even from a distance. The mage had half a mind to just take the books and leave without a word.

Then, before he could react, he had a wriggling, screeching child in his hands. 

“Praise the Maker.” Cullen shouted over the noise. Then his gaze hardened as Dorian moved to hand the little monster back. “No, hold him until I get this one changed.” He snapped, carrying his wailing charge over to a wooden table fit snuggly in the corner. Dorian recognized the craftsmanship in the leg carvings as Blackwall’s.

“Is this all they do? Assault your ears?” Dorian called over the noise, holding the baby away at arm’s length. 

“Have you never been around children, Dorian?” Cullen growled as he changed a diaper with trained swiftness. 

“I am an only child and never produced children in a traditional manner, so no.”

“Well,” the Commander grunted as half of the cacophony quieted down. The changed child clung to Cullen’s tunic, still red-faced but no longer crying. “Then thank the Maker you never had younger siblings.”

As Cullen crossed the room toward him, Dorian held out the crying child once again. “I am only here to collect my books. You are ruining my library with your pilfering.”

Cullen smirked. “He will never calm down if you hold him like that.”

“Pardon me?”

“That is why he keeps screaming. Have you never held a child before?” 

When the Commander made no moves to remove the child from his hands, Dorian knew he should have forgotten about the books. “I hold little interest in childcare.” He sniffed pointedly. 

Dorian was surprised by the chuckle. He was shocked by the fond smile. Cullen should be furious with him, the tiny, annoying voice in the back of Dorian’s head insisted. Over two months have passed since blood magic had brought these two into the world and Dorian had abandoned them.

At the very least, Cullen should be scolding Dorian for his neglectful behavior. Then, he realized that there was probably a certain dwarf responsible for Cullen’s more-than-lenient behavior.

Cullen had plopped the calmed child down in their cot. There was a small cry of protest, but the child kept quiet and followed Cullen with wide blue eyes. 

Calloused fingers delicately began to maneuver Dorian’s hands, moving one to the crying child’s back and the other tucked under kicking legs. With a light push, Dorian drew his arms closer to his chest. Cullen grabbed at the mage’s elbow, lowering it so he cradled the baby.

“There you go, see. Not so hard.” 

Dorian burned furiously under the touch and the mocking words. He ducked his head to hide the blush creeping on his cheeks. This brought him just inches away from mottled-red face of the boy. “Can I at least assume you can rock him?”

Dorian snorted indignantly without looking up. He didn’t want to feed the Commander’s satisfaction. He could practically feel smugness coming off the warrior in waves. 

As he moved, shifting slowly from foot to foot, the wail turned to a whimper. Wide, blue eyes stared up at him and pudgy fingers grasped tightly at his robes. Finally, after another minute, the babe calmed until the crying was replaced by a contented cooing. 

Dorian fought the smile that threatened to break across his face. His eyes drank in every detail of the child before he could stop himself. It had been almost a month since he had ventured into the Commander’s office, and they had already grown so much.

The child that stared up at him embodied Cullen, his face as strong and fierce as the warrior’s. The fine, black hair Dorian remembered had grown wild and thick. If it were to be anything like Dorian’s hair, cutting and styling would become a daily chore. An image flickered in the mage’s mind of leaving that responsibility to Cullen and shuddered involuntarily.

Then panic settled in Dorian’s chest as he recognized the intrusive thoughts. He arranged his face into a careful mask of apathy before raising his head. 

Cullen had retrieved the second child, who still sported a head of ginger ringlets, and pressed him to his shoulder. The smug smirk had melted into something sweeter, sincere even, and Dorian flushed again underneath it.

“Commander, we are both busy men and I do not seek to waste your time.” Dorian started. 

“On the contrary, you saved me time.” Cullen pointed out. “This is the nurse’s day off, so you spared me from tracking her down. I wouldn’t need her at all if you—“

Dorian cleared his throat abruptly. A startled whimper escaped the creature in his arms. “The books, Commander. I would prefer if you did not steal from my library in the future.”

Cullen released a long, exasperated sigh. “Can’t you speak to me civilly for one second?”

“I am being civil,” said Dorian, not unlike a scolded child.

“I would not need to steal your books if you would just speak to me.” Cullen shifted the baby’s weight, so he held onto its back with one hand. With the other hand, he grabbed one of the many tomes littering his desk. “I worry, Dorian. Often. I thought maybe if I read some of these books, I would understand.”

Dorian felt his heart sink a little. “I don’t know if there is any understanding what happened. This is nothing like I have ever seen.”

The frown on Cullen’s face deepened. “I was hoping you would give me a different answer.”

The mage bit back a humorless laugh. “Trust me, if the noble families of Tevinter discovered this magic, I cannot even begin to fathom how they would abuse it. The goal of creating the perfect mage would certainly become easier.”

There was a plop as Cullen dropped the book onto his desk and sank into his chair. He cradled the ginger child in his arms that cooed up at him. “I fear what the spell has taken from us. However, I have found myself more afraid—“ Cullen swallowed against a fear that now too settled in Dorian’s chest.

‘Of how the spell would affect the children.’ Dorian finished in his head. He crossed the room and gently placed his charge back into his cot. He had fallen asleep, long lashes fluttering against dark skin. 

With his hands now free, he placed one tentatively on the Commander’s shoulder. “The only option we have is to wait and see.”

This was why Dorian had built up the walls around his heart. Blood magic was already unstable, but this was blood magic gone horribly awry. No amount of research could prepare either of them for the consequences. Cullen had already grown too attached, and he hadn’t even chosen names.

Dorian’s heart sank to his stomach at the realization. Cullen was too afraid to name them, that would solidify his position as a parent, and even Dorian understood there was no pain like losing a child.

Without another word exchanged, Dorian inclined a hand to a stack of books abandoned on the floor beside the Commander’s desk. Cullen nodded, his eyes barely leaving the child in his arms. With a grunt, Dorian collected the heavy tomes in his arms.

“You are always welcome here, Dorian.” Cullen said, just as Dorian reached the door back to his tower.

In that moment, Dorian did not trust his tongue. He had realized how much he preferred the small, warm weight of the child in his arms compared to the stack of tomes. If he allowed himself one word, he would probably request to stay, but he couldn’t let those walls fall.

So he nodded, and fled the office before more damage could be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, thank you for reading! For anyone interested, you can find me at my new tumblr URl thetrashhero.tumblr.com!


	6. Week 14

Cullen ignored his stomach when it rumbled the first time. 

The boys had been particularly fussy that morning as he readied them for the nurse. Guilt tugged at him as he was reminded that they were still nameless after three months of existing in this world. The nurse tutted against the bizarre nature of their naming, but nothing was traditional about this situation.

And after that debacle, he had no time for eating. Even with Corypheus gone, Thedas was still a mess, and the war council was meeting. Leliana and the inquisitor ended up in a loud argument to which Cullen only paid half-attention, which caused the session to drag on longer than usual.

He was forced to ignore his stomach when it rumbled a second time.

With their resounding victory, new recruits were flooding in every day. Many of the Inquisition’s newest soldiers needed evaluations, and Cullen was required to lend a hand. He paced between the soldiers, watching sparks fly as swords and shields met with practiced flurry. Several faceless lieutenants ran up to him on occasion with various pieces of paperwork.

Time got away from him and Cullen noticed the sun had long dragged its way to the top of the sky. He hadn’t meant to stay in the training yard so long.

Once again, the grumble that had become a fierce growl was set aside for other responsibilities. He had a meeting with the captains.

He kept the meeting short on purpose, watching the sky carefully. Clouds had started to move in from the west in dark masses. Summer was nearing an end and that meant one last massive lightning storm.

The larger of the boys, one that Cullen had considered calling Vincent, howled like a demon whenever he heard thunder. He refused to calm for the nurse when this happened, and she had practically begged Cullen to return if another storm rolled over Skyhold.

He was going to keep that promise.

And yet, he couldn’t even achieve that simple act of fatherhood. The first rolls of thunder peeled through the sky as Cullen ended the meeting. He tried to race back toward his office, but was stopped in his tracks by Cassandra.

“You have not eaten today,” she commented, thoroughly blocking his path.

“Good of you to notice. As you can see, I am in a hurry.”

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around toward the kitchens. “You are not only taking care of yourself now.”

“Then have food sent to my quarters.”

“The last time I did, it was left untouched.”

He wanted to pull the child card, but he knew Cassandra would only roll her eyes. ‘You are paying that nurse for a reason. She can handle them while you spare a moment to eat.’ Her voice was astoundingly clear in his head, and he didn’t need to hear it twice.

His stomach was no longer empty after he shoved just enough bread and cheese down his throat to make Cassandra happy. “Can I return to my office now, Seeker?” He used the name teasingly, a smirk to hiding his anxiety. There was another clap of thunder and Cullen could practically feel the screaming in his bones.

Cassandra waved a dismissive hand, pilfering a cake from the table before heading back toward the main hall. Cullen practically sprinted from the kitchens and onto the battlements. The wind howled around him as the rain fell sideways with it. He was going to be soaked in the few short steps between the main hall and his office. 

A thunderclap sounded just above him and Cullen began to construct an apology to the nurse in his head.

He threw open the door and was met with no cries. Cullen stood in his doorway, rain dripping from his hair into his eyes, down his armor and into a puddle on the floor. The Commander found he couldn’t move. 

The nurse was nowhere to be found; rather an almost unfamiliar figure had relieved her.

Dorian sat on the cold, stone floor against the wall, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. His head was thrown back, eyes drawn closed as a light snore escaped his gaping mouth. Vincent, the name had never felt so perfect before this moment, was pressed against Dorian’s chest, fast asleep as well.

Cullen took a cautious step forward, terrified of startling the mage out of his slumber. His eyes trailed from Vincent down to Dorian’s free arm, which lay inside the other cot. His hand rested lightly on top of the other child’s chest, and the Commander bit back a smirk when he saw the pale lines along Dorian’s fingers. 

A pile of rings sat atop Cullen’s desk. 

As silently as possible, Cullen stripped away his soaking cloak and armor until only his tunic and breeches remained. The cold stones prickled at his bare feet, but he crossed the office without a noise and crouched down beside the occupied cot. He delicately removed Dorian’s hand from the slumbering child, and gathering the bundle up into his arms.

The nameless babe stirred for a moment before burrowing into the warmth found at Cullen’s chest. “Your brother is Vincent,” the Commander muttered into the child’s hair, crossing his office in small, bouncing steps. “Now you need a name.”

“Octavian.” The voice nearly startled Cullen into dropping the child. He turned to face Dorian, who almost appeared to still be asleep except for the smirk that tugged at corner of his mouth. “I have taken to calling him Octavian.”

For one moment, a bitter response began to form in the back of Cullen’s throat. Monsters, creatures, beasts, every cruel name Dorian had spat in the past months swirled in his head. Until a few short weeks ago, the mage had refused to even touch them. 

Yet, Vincent’s small fingers clutched at Dorian’s tunic as the mage was sprawled peacefully on Cullen’s floor. They had been asleep until he rudely interrupted. 

And still the scene warmed Cullen’s chest and it ached at the thought of disrupting the delicate progress that was being made. Three months. It had taken three months, and nothing in this world or the next could make the Commander chase Dorian away now.

“Why Octavian?” 

“Why Vincent?” Dorian chuckled, the rumble in his chest causing Vincent to stir. Cullen bit back a fond smile as the mage mumbled quiet words in Tevene to the child until he stilled.

“’Was my father’s name. He would have loved them,” Cullen’s feet moved on their own accord, and before either man could react, they sat shoulder to shoulder. The Commander reached out and chased a lock of dark hair away from Vincent’s eye. “Rutherfords produce good fighters, he always said.”

“Have you told your family?”

Cullen chuckled. “Maker no, I could not even imagine their response. Mia would probably be over the moon.” He was about to return the question before thinking twice. He knew very little about Dorian’s relationship with his family except for that it was strained.

And the blood. The image had joined his nightmares of the Circle. Dorian had been bled for blood magic, the sound of his father’s voice ringing in his ear, but still Cullen struggled to figure out any context. He was terrified to ask.

Instead, he returned to earlier question. “Why Octavian?”

Dorian smiled, taking his turn to reach over and run a thumb across the child’s forehead. “Funny enough, it was my grandfather’s name. He was a good man, one of the last in Tevinter, I suppose. It seems to be a trait that skipped a generation or two.”

A sudden surge of confidence allowed Cullen to speak. “Hoping you will pass it on?” 

A sad smile crossed Dorian’s face. “I am hoping it does not skip another.” He said after a second of silence. “I apologize for my actions Commander. I wish I could take them back.”

“You will make up for it, starting now.”

Cullen gained some pleasure from the way Dorian’s eyes widened before flickering down to Vincent, turning misty at the corners. “Thank you,” those were the two most genuine words the Commander had ever heard from Dorian.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter I may start doing bigger time jumps. Also, thank you to everyone sticking it out with me through this mess of a fic. There's so many directions I want to take it, but I'll have to make up my mind soon!


	7. Week 20

“That is an absurd proposition.” Dorian huffed, balancing Octavian on his hip as he paced from wall to wall. 

“The hole’s fixed now,” Cullen began to protest, not looking up from the reports on his desk. “No more draft—“

The mage rolled his eyes. “Your father is convinced that I can be domesticated,” he offered the words to Octavian who squeaked delightedly in reply. “Utter shite if you ask me.”

“Dorian!” The Commander protested against the foul language for the fifth time that morning, but it was hard to miss the laughter behind the exclamation. “You have already moved into my office—“

“Moving into your bed is a wholly different bag of cats, Commander.” The mage snapped in warning. It was true that he had practically taken over the once-barren office. He forced a few wide-eyed recruits move his chair, a desk, and half of Skyhold’s library down with him.

A few curtains, a large, ornate rug, and some, baby-safe enchanted fireballs later, the office felt cozier and warmer than it ever had. The situation was mutually beneficial for the two of them as they took turns between working and parenting. However, when the sun had set and the boys were asleep, Dorian slipped away for his own quarters.

While the chance to share a bed with a man as handsome as Cullen was tempting, Dorian knew better. This offer was coming out of convenience rather than any interest, sexual or otherwise. You deserve some restless nights, Cullen had stated, as if he was suggesting they share a table rather than a bed.

“If there was a way to fit another bed up there, I would call for one.” The Commander finally dragged his eyes away from the reports. The amused glint was replaced by something bordering on irritation. “Besides, this will only be a temporary solution. I will make a request to the Inquisitor to find us more suitable accommodations, but until then, you can make a small sacrifice for the sake of my sanity.”

Dorian sighed, but he knew when to surrender. He understood Cullen’s desperate need for a full night’s sleep and if this was truly the only solution—

“Fasta vass.” The curse escaped him in a sigh. “Fine. I will agree to this arrangement for now.”

There was a sharp cry as Vincent awoke and Dorian rushed over to hoist him up. He missed the small smile that passed over Cullen’s face before flickering out like a candle. 

“However, Commander, if you snore I am leaving.”

“Fair enough,”

“Now that is settled, I will need to move a few of my possessions here. If it this is for your convenience, this arrangement needs to be convenient for me as well. Open up your arms—“

Cullen barely had time to react before Octavian was placed into his lap. Dorian hoisted Vincent high on his shoulder and cursed as the child’s mouth went straight to one of his buckles. Once upon a time, his robes had been clean and sparkling. These two made certain that would never happen again.

Dorian made his way to the door in search of a few pairs of free hands to help him move; Vincent being the perfect excuse to do none of the lifting himself. However, he spared a glance over his shoulder at Cullen. He had abandoned his quill in favor of lifting Octavian high in the air. 

A smile split across the Commander’s tired face, blowing a raspberry as Octavian squirmed and giggled. Dorian turned away before the Commander could see the blush creeping across his face.

“Finally asleep?” Dorian asked as he perched at the edge of Cullen’s bed. He practically felt naked sitting there in just his sleepwear.

Cullen rubbed at his eyes, nodding as he flung aside his cloak and shed his armor. Even with the threat of Corypheus passed, the man insisted on appearing battle-ready at all times. “Won’t be long before they’re howling,” he muttered, flopping facedown beside Dorian.

The mage fought the desire to rub Cullen’s tense shoulders.

“At least this time, you can get up.” He snorted, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile.

Dorian snorted, moving slowly to stretch out on his side of the bed. I always sleep on the left, he had insisted as a few of Cullen’s men hauled his belongings into the loft. Dorian had found them just outside the office and recruited them for his efforts of moving in.

Dorian had done his best to ignore the sly grins and coins exchanged when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Cullen shuffled to bring his head up to the pillow and threw the quilt over his shoulders. He watched Dorian out of the corner of his eye as the mage moved to grab a book.

“I suggest trying to get right to sleep,” he suggested and Dorian huffed, opening his book with a stubborn flutter of pages. He froze as Cullen’s hand came to rest on his wrist, maneuvering it to snap the book shut. “You will thank me later.”

Dorian tried not to watch as the Commander’s fingers slipped away to fall beside his head. It wasn’t a minute later when a soft snore escaped Cullen; a thin line of drool escaped his agape mouth.

“Liar, you do snore.” Dorian chuckled, placing his book onto the ground. Slowly, he sunk down into the bed beside Cullen, careful to maintain the thin, empty space between them. He turned onto his side, staring at the wall as his mind spun tight little circles.

He was in bed with the Inquisition’s second most handsome man, after himself of course, for the convenience of their shared children. That particular train of thought would have seemed absolutely absurd just a few short months ago. Now, Dorian found his racing thoughts being lulled into submission by the steady rise and fall of Cullen’s breath.

It wasn’t long before sleep took him as well. And it wasn’t long until sharp fingernails roused Dorian as they dug into his arm. Cullen was shaking as he gripped at the mage’s arm; incoherent muttering tumbled from his mouth like shards of glass. 

In their sleep, they had rolled over to share the middle of the bed, their faces barely inches away from one another. Even in the darkness, Dorian could see the deep lines in Cullen’s face, like fresh wounds. 

Dorian closed his hand around the one gripping his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Cullen,” he urged, his voice barely above a whisper. “Cullen, it is just a nightmare. Wake up.” He reached out and cupped the side of the Commander’s face, shuddering at the thin layer of cold sweat.

With a pained gasp, Cullen’s eyes flew open. He scrambled away from the mage, almost tumbling off the bed and onto the floor in the process. For a moment, his gaze was feral, crazed as he took in his surroundings and the stranger in his bed before relaxing.

“’M sorry,” Cullen barely managed to slur out before a high-pitched whimper reached them from below the loft. There was a shared groan, but Dorian was surprised as Cullen reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, sometimes he’ll stop.”

There was another whimper, softer this time. Cullen sank back down into bed, quiet, as he seemed to hold his breath. Then there was silence, and both men released sighs of relief. 

However, it was short lived before there was a howl, followed by a second cry of dismay. Dorian swung his legs off the edge of the bed, but stopped short as he watched Cullen climb to his feet. “It was my flailing that woke them,” he stifled a yawn, rubbing at dark eyes. “I will take care of it.”

“Perish the thought. I can manage on a little less beauty sleep.” Dorian jumped to his feet and walked around the bed before Cullen could take another step. With a hard shove to the Commander’s bare chest, the blond fell back onto the bed. “You said it was my turn,”

For a moment, Cullen looked like he was going to argue, but Dorian could see him eye his pillow. The temptation was too strong. “Fine,” he mumbled, flopping onto his side and throwing the quilt over his head.

Dorian gripped the ladder blindly, carefully descending and praying that he did not fall. How Cullen managed to maneuver this damn thing day in and day out was beyond him. The office was pit black, but he followed the cries easily to their source.

Octavian, the initial source of the noise, bawled until Dorian bundled him up into his arms. Quelled by the warm touch, the cries faded to a whimper until the child made a soft cooing noise, hands reaching out toward Dorian’s face. “There, there. Your father didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled, planting a soft kiss on the forehead. 

How easily the title fell from his mouth when addressing Cullen. His eyes wandered up toward the loft as Octavian shifted, falling back to sleep. In all technicality, Dorian would be ‘father’ as well, but he felt inadequate, undeserving. 

Another minute of rocking achieved Dorian’s desired effect and he was able to lower Octavian back into his cot without protest. He swept a small, fiery curl away from the babe’s forehead before placing a hand on Vincent’s slowly rising and falling chest. He had been quick to return to sleep when his brother was quieted.

He fell asleep even faster than Cullen.

With one last sweeping look over the two and around the room, Dorian was satisfied. It was turn to return to bed. He climbed the ladder slowly, and crawled back under the quilt. He spared a quick glance at Cullen. His eyes were closed, but his brow was furrowed, nose wrinkled slightly. 

“Are you still awake?” Dorian whispered in the darkness.

Cullen cracked open an eye, a sigh escaping his chest. “Hard to sleep after a nightmare.”

Dorian understood. He was a mage, nightmares and demons came with the territory, but they had worsened over the past few months. It didn’t help that some of the memories that crept up from the back of his mind were not his own.

“Close your eyes. I’m right here if you need me,” the mage offered softly, sliding his hand into the small space between them. “Dawn will be here soon, we better sleep.” Dorian let his eyes flutter closed, burrowing deeper into the quilt.

He heard Cullen mumble something, and shift to pull the quilt tighter around them. Then Dorian felt warmth as Cullen placed a cautious hand on top of his own, running a callused thumb along his knuckles. 

Then it was gone, the bed shuddering as Cullen rolled over, stretching out on his stomach like an overgrown cat. Dorian bit back a sleepy smirk as their legs bumped, the small strip of empty space violated by the simple gesture.

Everything was quiet until dawn, and upon waking, Dorian decided that sharing a bed with the Commander wasn’t so terrible after all.


	8. Week 24

For a moment, Dorian existed in blissful quiet. Warm streams of sunlight filtered into the mage’s bubble of peace to chase away cold autumn air. Quiet snores tickled his ear and fell into rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest. There was a distinct lack of opening and closing of doors and high-pitched crying.

The mage cracked open a single eye to watch a sunbeam dance across the wall, blearily drinking in the stillness of the world.

A bell tolled in the distance and Dorian thought nothing of it. Then it was followed by another chime, and he closed his eyes, counting the bongs in his head. 

Three, four, five, they had slept in. He heard a small body rustle below them.

Six, the snoring stopped and Cullen stirred with a groan.

Seven, panic rose in Dorian’s chest. That was too many.

Eight. There was an explosion of movement as Cullen catapulted from the bed, dragging Dorian with him. They had unconsciously locked legs in their sleep. A groan escaped his mouth as Dorian rubbed at his now-sore back. “Festis bel umo canavarum.” He muttered under the breath as the sudden noises initiated the first cries of the morning.

So much for peace.

“Andraste’s rosy—“ the good Andrastian in him didn’t allow Cullen to finish as he threw a tunic haphazardly over his shoulders. “The Inquisitor will have my hide if I am late to the war council.”

Dorian moved slower than his panicking bedmate, watching in thinly veiled amusement as the Commander fumbled with the buckles of his chest piece. “Since our world revolves around their clocks, we seem to have lost our own.” He commented with a chuckle. A smirk tugged on his lips when Cullen responded with a glare.

Cullen disappeared down the ladder as Dorian slipped his last buckle into place. “How is everyone this morning?” He heard the Commander say as the cries died away at the sight of their favorite person. 

Dorian took a moment to muss his hair and mustache into place in the mirror when soft words turned to a hurried shout. “Quicker Dorian, I need some help!”

“This beauty takes time, Commander!” He called back, examining his face one last time from every available angle.

“I don’t give a nug’s ass about your beauty. Get down here.”

Dorian huffed, unsatisfied with his appearance but this had been a trying time for him. Children meant not enough time for grooming, which was distressing the mage to no end. The members of the Inner Circle learned not to comment upon this fact after the first week and a handful of fireballs. 

“Who is watching the twins today?” Cullen asked as Dorian jumped off the ladder and regained his balance with a practiced step. There was a delighted giggle as Octavian, perched high in Cullen’s arms, spotted Dorian and reached out for him.

He collected the squirming child and buried his face into the head of red ringlets. “Varric offered to have them this morning,” he said, waltzing across the room to his desk. 

Normally, they avoided pawning off their children to the rest of the Inquisition, but this morning it was unavoidable. The Inquisition was preparing to host a ball of Josephine’s design that would rival the most decadent Orlesian soirée. And much to Cullen’s exasperation, he was in charge of organizing security for the event. The sheer number of dignitaries attending, including even a few important magisters and ambassadors from Tevinter, created quite the nightmare for the Commander.

Two of these Tevene ambassadors were scheduled to arrive this very afternoon and Dorian had been recruited to give them the grand tour. It wasn’t every day his countrymen were interested in visiting Skyhold after all. 

And as much as it pained Dorian, these men couldn’t see him carrying around his two bundles of joy. In a feat worthy of a Maker-given miracle, the combined efforts of Josephine, Leliana, and the Inquisitor kept the rumors surrounding Octavian and Vincent’s unusual circumstances contained within the walls of Skyhold. 

Dorian knew word would eventually reach his father. However, he was determined for it to be on his own terms. He had a shaky reconciliation with Magister Halward after Dorian announced his return to Tevinter. While a meddling dwarf had thwarted those plans, there had been a few vague but ultimately friendly letters exchanged between them. 

A cloud of papers caught Dorian’s eye as Cullen clumsily knocked a stack of his reports off his desk.

“For the Maker’s sake, I should already be in the War Room.” Cullen fussed and Dorian joined him in collecting the papers. A few had fluttered down near where Vincent was stretched out onto a plush carpet. Dorian was certain to snatch those out of his reach before they ended up in his mouth. “I need those, and don’t you have somewhere to be as well?”

“My charges haven’t—“ Dorian was about to shrug when there was a long blast of a horn reserved for important figures. “Vishante kaffas. That would be them.” He cursed, scooping a protesting Vincent into his other arm. 

“Will you be okay finding the dwarf?” Cullen drew the last of his papers together, balancing them precariously in his arms.

“Of course, of course. No need to be such a mother hen, my dear Commander.” Dorian waved Cullen off dismissively despite his burdened arms. 

“Good,” Cullen grunted, sweeping in to press a kiss to Vincent’s hair. “I don’t need the Inquisitor threatening my disembowelment again.” Another kiss was placed on Octavian’s forehead. “I will see you this evening for supper.” Dorian froze as Cullen’s lips brushed his for the briefest of moments. 

A chaste peck husband and wife would share before parting for the morning.

And in the blink of an eye, it was over and the Commander swept out of the room, nearly catching his cloak in the door as it closed behind him.

A roaring heat flushed across his face as Dorian’s brain reeled. Had that actually happened? He was almost certain the Commander hadn’t meant to do it, like a reflex. 

And Dorian could not admit how much he wanted it to happen again.

He was only drawn from his thoughts when round, curious fingers found the end of his moustache and yanked hard.

“Octavian!” Dorian squawked for the joint amusement of his children, who both exploded into a peel of giggles. He released a heavy sigh, trying to shake the flush from his face as he headed out the door.

Varric was simple enough to locate. Since Solas disappeared after they had felled Corypheus, the dwarf had practically taken over the first floor of the rotunda. Pages of his latest manuscript were scattered across his desk, but he abandoned them and his quill when Dorian appeared.

“Ah, Sparkler there you are!” He said, a grin breaking out across his face. “And you’ve brought me the cubs. Don’t worry, I put Bianca someplace high so she won’t end up a baby toy.”

“Thank you again, Varric.” Dorian shifted to hand Vincent off when he was intercepted by a pair of ghostly hands.

“Does he even realize what he’s done?” Cole bundled Vincent up in his arms with carefully practiced movements. “Playing house, it feels like a game until it suddenly isn’t. Soft, quiet, tingling lips.” Vincent reached and tugged at the tall brim of Cole’s hat, drawing a faint smile across the former spirit’s face. “What have I done to deserve this happiness?”

Varric chuckled as he pried Octavian from a stunned Dorian’s arm. “Just remind Curly to pay up from our last game and I will consider it even.” He seemed to ignore Cole’s words until he turned to Octavian who squirmed in his grip. “I swear, sometimes your fathers are more entertaining than my own characters. Maybe I should take a few hints,”

Dorian huffed, pointedly refusing to make eye contact with Varric as he gave each of the boy’s a pat on the head before disappearing. Faint warmth twisted at his stomach, and the mage was uncertain if the source was embarrassment or something he didn’t dare name.

Distracted could not begin to describe Dorian’s manners during his tour. He was still undeniably witty, charming, and informative with his tour, but questions had to be expressed twice for him to take notice. He bumped gracelessly into a protesting masked noble when he spotted Cullen emerge from the kitchens to disappear into the war room. He tripped over uneven flagstones when they passed Cole and Varric with the twins in the garden. 

By the end of the afternoon when the ambassadors excused themselves to their chambers, Dorian wanted to bury his head in his research. He needed something to focus his scattered thoughts on that wouldn’t judge him for going red in the face from the morning’s proceedings. 

In his abandoned alcove in the library, he perched on the uncomfortable replacement for the chair he had squirreled away to Cullen’s office. His eyes scanned the words, unfocused and lost as his thumb traced the bottom line of his lip.

He had been kissed many times in his life. In passing by his parents, pecks on the cheek in greeting, deep kisses in the throes of passion, but never in his life did Dorian daydream about a moment like that morning.

“He misses you.”

Dorian was startled from his thoughts as a red-faced Vincent was dropped unceremoniously in his lap. Abandoning his half-read book, he bundled the child in his arms and felt a tear-stained face press against his neck.

“He would not stop crying until he saw you.” Cole crouched down and touched Vincent’s dark hair with cautious fingers. The kid had been keenly interested in Vincent and Octavian since they returned from the Arbor Wilds, according to Cullen, but had been worried about ‘breaking them’.

However, Dorian grew tired of Cole haunting the office without lending a helping hand and taught him how to hold them as Cullen had: he threw Vincent into Cole’s arms and hoped for the best. And to the boy’s surprise, Vincent was immediately drawn to the former spirit with smiles and giggles. 

Clutched to his chest, the sobs evaporated into wet hiccups as Vincent stilled. He rubbed circles absently into his back as he glanced toward Cole. “About this morning,”

The boy frowned and turned his head away guiltily. “You do not like it when I am in your head, but you were loud. So much happiness buried and twisted by pain and sadness. I wanted to help,”

Dorian smiled and squeezed Cole’s shoulder. “This is a burden that I must carry alone, Cole.”

The mage had to lean back to avoid being smacked in the face by the brim of Cole’s hat as he stood. “Mother and father never loved each other, forced together by circumstance, they tried to fight in the shadows but I always saw. Love is a fairytale. They deserve a fairytale I cannot give them.”

“Please Cole, don’t.” Dorian dipped his head to rest his chin on Vincent’s head. He had fallen asleep and even though he wouldn’t understand, the mage was glad he couldn’t hear. 

“But you can.” Cole protested, rocking onto the balls of his feet. “Idiot.”

Dorian scrambled to wipe the shock off his face from the insult.

“Utter idiot. Impulsive, ruined everything. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Like a deer, he will startle and disappear, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Dorian realized these were not his thoughts this time. 

“He never imagined a family. Templars do not have families outside the Order. But now—“ Cole paused and bit the inside of his cheek. “Now a family is all he wants.”

A laugh escaped Dorian, humorless and flat. “He better start searching for a lovely wife, then. One worthy of a commander.”

Cole huffed, and Dorian was startled by the genuine frustration in his voice. “No, you’re wrong.” He crossed his arms like an angry child then deflated, a look of exasperation falling upon his face. “You said I could ask you questions, a long time ago. Can I still ask questions?”

Dorian waved a hand. “I don’t see why not. Nothing seems to be off limits in this conversation anyhow.”

“Why is it when two people want the same thing they take so long to realize it?”

“I have about ten books that could explain that to you, kid.” Varric emerged from the staircase with Octavian in his arms. 

“None of those would be appropriate for our friend to read, Varric.” Dorian sighed, reaching his free arm to take Octavian who began to fuss at the sight of him. He had been lucky that morning when the babe hadn’t thrown a tantrum when Varric took him.

Octavian pitched a fit whenever handed off to someone that wasn’t Dorian or Cullen. Vincent was just happy to be held. The hands didn’t matter. 

“Cassandra read them out loud to me. I don’t like the captain.”

Varric’s face cracked into a smug grin. “I still cannot get over the fact Divine Victoria has read my work.”

Dorian smiled fondly at the mention of their friend. Her presence had been missed around Skyhold since she left. While he did not miss the way she tried to shove shoddy Ferelden smut into his hands, he did miss the way her eyes lit up when he shared his private collection of Tevinter romance novels. 

One had gone missing, but decided he shouldn’t hold a grudge against the most powerful woman in the southern Chantry.

“The boy’s right though, Sparkler.”

Dorian groaned and rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.” His tone made him sound like a petulant child, but it hid his panic. Despite his time in the south and the quiet assurances of those who knew, Dorian was still not comfortable with open discussion of his preferences, much less his current preference for his roommate and fellow parent.

Varric opened his mouth to continue the argument before his eyes fell on the bundles in Dorian’s arms. He gave a resigned sigh. “You should probably take them back to your chambers. It’s nap time.”

Dorian glanced down and noticed that despite their awfully loud conversation both of his charges had fallen asleep. And happy for the escape, the mage rose to his feet, thanked Varric for watching the twins again, and fled toward Cullen’s tower.

However, no amount of gentle maneuvering and mumbled reassurances left either child happy to be placed in their cot. Octavian’s reaction was immediate when removed from the heat of Dorian’s chest. And Octavian’s protest roused Vincent from his sleep and Dorian gave in with a heavy sigh.

Octavian was first. Dorian hauled the child up into one arm and used the other to clamber up the damned ladder. He howled when Dorian placed him on the bed and headed back to the first floor, but then there was blissful quiet as Dorian reappeared with Vincent in tow.

Without bothering to shed aside his robe, the mage collapsed on the bed with Vincent across his chest and Octavian nestled in the crook of his arm. “Is this preferable, you demons?”

Vincent fell back asleep. Octavian babbled and kicked, but wide smiles crossed his face when Dorian brushed aside red curls and responded with the occasional yes, brilliant, tell me more, and a sound observation my dear. 

The pauses between his responses grew longer as his eyes threatened to flutter closed. And when Octavian’s monologue drew to a close, Dorian allowed them to follow through. 

A rustle of sheets drew the mage out of his sleep. Dorian peeked through eyelashes and the dim twilight to watch Cullen shed the last of his armor and boots before stretching out on his stomach with a groan.

Warmth spread across Dorian as the Commander settled in closer, draping an arm across the altus’ chest, allowing his fingertips to brush against Octavian’s curls. Every nerve in Dorian screamed with the sudden desire to flee. This form of intimacy, void of any sexual desire, was horrifyingly foreign to him. 

‘--he will startle and disappear, I couldn’t live with myself.’ Cole’s voice melted away until Cullen was speaking. Dorian took a heavy breath to disguise his panic, playing it off as an attempt to clear his throat.

“What happened to those more suitable accommodations, Commander?” Dorian muttered, fighting against the sleep-filled slur in his voice. “I am tired of fearing one of our children will plummet over the damned edge.”

Cullen startled slightly at the words, completely unaware that Dorian had been awake. However, when the mage made no movements to bolt, he settled in closer until their hips were pressed together. “You’re the one who keeps bringing them up here.”

“What can I say? I do not sleep with the conviction of a bear in hibernation such as you, Commander.” It hadn’t been unusual for Dorian to return from an errand to find Cullen fast asleep despite the crying. And when he woke the Commander to reprimand him, it had to be explained that sometimes the best option was to allow the boys to cry themselves out. “I believe in spoiling them rotten.”

“And rotten they will be with you as a father.” Cullen chuckled, accidentally stinging Dorian with his words. It was meant as a joke, but the mage couldn’t ignore how they prickled at his skin.

“When is supper?” Dorian asked, attempting to steer away the conversation. 

He had to repeat his question when the Commander’s only response was a sleepy hum. “Not for another hour,” the words were slow and quiet. “I can afford to close my eyes for a moment.”

There was a thump against Dorian’s arm as Cullen rested his forehead against it. The events of the morning, nearly forgotten by now, resurfaced until Dorian was fighting against the blush across his face. Questions were on the tip of his tongue as he glanced down at Cullen’s profile. 

They evaporated as his face relaxed, worry lines smoothing out until the Commander looked nearly a decade younger. Questions would be for another day and Dorian nestled his cheek into the soft, blond curls he was slowly growing much too fond of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered breaking this chapter up into two parts, but couldn't find a good spot. I wanted to establish some of the world decisions/background/etc. that might or might be important in the future hence the length.
> 
> Also, I want to dedicate a whole series of one-shots to just the other members of the inner circle + some babysitting because nothing makes me happier than the idea that they all secretly dote over the two.
> 
> And one other thing, I am in desperate need of a playlist for this fic, so if you have any suggestions of some cute songs please please please share. I need more cute music in my life.


	9. Week 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will, timeline-wise, be relatively close together since a bunch of important events are happening. Thank you to everyone that has been sticking with me through this cesspool of self-indulgent trash. It's been a lot of fun! (:

He had enough of politics. This damned Game, why must it spread from Orlais to his blasted front door? Well, the Inquisitor’s front door, but he was still responsible for the safety of everyone within its walls. The last thing he wanted was to assist in holding a ball, filled to the brim with obnoxious, traitorous nobility who are going to jostle one another to rub elbows with the famed Inquisitor before plotting each others’ downfalls.

“It will be a spectacularly boring affair if there isn’t a single assassination attempt.” Leliana had said, a sparkle forming in her eye when Cullen groaned dramatically.

He did his part for the war council. He promised to have his guard rotations to Leliana before the week was out so she could fill the blind spots with her people. The Commander had already chosen his men and their scheduled times, he just had to take a few laps around Skyhold to figure out positions.

Cullen rubbed at his face and stifled a yawn as the Inquisitor went over last minute additions to the guest list with Leliana.

“Tired, Commander?”

“Abysmally exhausted, Josephine.” He gave a weak smile to the ambassador. “Octavian doesn’t understand the meaning of sleep.” The littler one had been waking them up almost every hour some nights.

Josephine chuckled. “And this talk of the gala does not help, no?” She glanced toward Leliana and the Inquisitor who were absorbed in the documents before them. A fond smile spread across her face as her gaze traced the Inquisitor’s furrowed brow. Cullen swallowed against the thick taste of jealousy. “I may have something that will peak your interest.”

“Anything is better than this.” He said, following her out of the war room and to her desk. For a moment, the ambassador shuffled through her stacks of papers before drawing out a small map of the Skyhold grounds.

The Inquisitor’s next big project after this business with the gala was settled was to build on the old campgrounds. Over the past few months, the Inquisition’s armed forces had shrunk as armies lent by the surrounding areas returned home and templars left to join the reformed Seekers under Divine Victoria.

The idea was to build a new guest wing, a proper clinic for the growing population of Skyhold, and then have a few empty plots left over to build lodgings for some of the Inquisition’s more permanent residents.

“And this will be yours.” Josephine said, dragging Cullen from his thoughts. A delicate, ring-clad finger pointed at a small plot of land just off the training grounds.

“What? Mine?” Cullen stuttered.

Josephine tried to a hide a giggle behind her hand. “You and Dorian requested more suitable accommodations, yes? Well, this is where they can be built if you desire.”

Cullen’s face broke into a smile, he wanted to grab the ambassador around the waist and spin her around the room and shout his gratitude. The idea of a home, no matter how small, made his heart sing. And then came the crashing guilt, he was taking more than he deserved. He should be making sacrifices for the Inquisition, not taking from its limited resources.

He opened his mouth to refuse, but was promptly quieted as Josephine’s stare hardened.

“Consider this a gift, Commander, from the Inquisition for your dedication and hard work. It would be impolite to turn down such a generous offer.” Leave it to Josephine to strong arm him into accepting a gift.

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Possibly start with a thank you to the Inquisitor.” Josephine said, pressing the map into Cullen’s hands. “I suppose you would want to communicate the news to Dorian.”

Cullen swallowed thickly against the lump that formed in his throat. The mage had seemed distant for the last week. Granted, their lives had been madness between preparation for the gala, the arrival of guests, the twins starting to move and gaining new teeth by the day, and the typical day to day duties kept them from seeing one another until they collapsed in bed for the evening.

He’s avoiding you, his brain suggested, after that stunt you pulled no one is surprised. Cullen felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells trying to navigate the uncharted waters he and Dorian had been thrown into. There were going to be mishaps, he had to remind himself.

“Dorian?” Cullen called as he opened the door to the tower slowly. The mage in question was at his desk, staring intently at a letter in his hand. From the little Cullen could see the script was sharp and foreign, unreadable to him. Probably Tevene.

There was a chorus of squeals when he entered the room. Vincent and Octavian sat in on of the cots together with a collection of toys between them.

“You interrupted the most riveting tale Vincent had been telling.” Dorian said, his former concentration melting away into an easy smile as he shoved the letter underneath one of the heavy tomes on his desk.

“Well, he can continue on our walk.” Cullen said as he crossed the room, reaching for Octavian who had lifted his arms first.

“Oh, we’re going out?” Dorian tried to sound playful, but there was no mistaking his unease. He rose from his chair and rummaged around a chest specifically for the twins’ clothes. “Is it cold out?”

“That will be plenty warm Dorian, don’t fuss.” Cullen laughed, taking one of the tiny cloaks from him. “We won’t be out for long, I just have something to show you.”

“And what would that be, Commander?” Dorian said, balancing Vincent on his hip as he buttoned a green cloak into place.

Cullen smirked to hide his fraying nerves. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.”

A quiet, exaggerated gasp escaped from Dorian and made Vincent giggle. “What strange creature has replaced our dear Commander? How will the Inquisition survive since he has obviously been possessed?” His sarcasm ended with a chuckle. “Never thought you were one for surprises.”

“You will like this one,” Cullen said, swinging a red-cloaked Octavian up onto his shoulders in the way that made Dorian nervous.

“He could fall,” Dorian protested as they walked out into the brisk autumn air.

“He will be fine.” Cullen insisted. Octavian’s fingers were buried deep into his hair as he kept a firm hand on each of his legs. “How is Vincent enjoying his dull ride?”

Dorian sniffed and hoisted Vincent higher in his arms. “He is enjoying his walk safely, isn’t that right?” The mage received an excited cry in response. “See, told you.”

Cullen led them along the battlements rather than take them through the main hall. The sheer amount of eyes that would have been upon them might have broken Dorian. Normally, the mage was happy to be the center of attention except when with him, the twins, or both.

He had tried to confront Dorian about it once, but it had ended in a half-hearted argument.

“I am an intelligent man, Dorian. It’s complicated is not a sufficient explanation.”

“Have you heard the talk whenever we walk together?”

“That is what this is about?” Cullen hated how angry he had gotten.

“You don’t deserve it!” Dorian lowered his voice to a harsh whisper as the twins slept. “They shouldn’t have to grow up with those kinds of rumors.”

Cullen had wanted to grab the altus by the shoulders and shake him. Maybe put a left hook to his jaw. Or hold him close and remind him that he was no longer the ‘evil Tevinter magister’ but a hero of Thedas. Anything to knock some sense into Dorian, but the mage rolled over and refused to speak further on the subject.

As they passed through the training grounds, soldiers paused in their sparring to give salutes to the passing commander. Octavian gave clumsy waves to each of them in return. Dorian quickened his pace under the attention.

Cullen led the last few steps, pulling Octavian off his shoulders to cradle in his arm. With his other hand, he reached into his cloak and pulled out Josephine’s plans. “Here it is.”

“This is your surprise?” Dorian crooked an eyebrow. “A patch of mud?”

The former occupants of this space had only left a few days prior, leaving the patch of earth wet, trampled, and dirty. Dorian wrinkled his nose as one of his boots sunk.

Cullen rolled his eyes and handed the parchment over to Dorian. “Have a look at this.”

“Reading and holding a squirming child do not complement one another. I have learned this the hard way Commander.” Dorian remarked, squinting at the paper in his hand. “The Inquisition is assigning the newly freed space? And what—wait is this for us?”

Cullen chuckled. “Josephine said they will start building after the gala with hopes of finishing it before the first snow.”

Nerves twisted the Commander’s stomach into knots as deep lines appeared in Dorian’s forehead, his bottom lip trapped underneath his teeth.

“You won’t have to be afraid of the twins falling,” he hurried to recover the situation. “And we can even fit separate rooms for us. No more having to share a bed with me.” The last comment fell like dead weight from his mouth.

More mornings than not, Cullen awoke to find himself tangled up in Dorian’s limbs. The contact and the warmth from it chased away the bitterest of nightmares and he would keenly feel its loss. But Dorian’s comfort and continued presence in his life, the twin’s lives, was far more important.

Cullen had to bite back a sigh of relief when the lines smoothed out and Dorian chuckled. “Thank the Maker for small miracles, then. Less snoring and bruises from being kicked.” There was a flash of white teeth as Dorian smiled. “What do you think Vincent? Does this look good?”

_“Oh, and Commander?” Josephine had stopped him as he left her office, plans in hand. “If you do not act on your feelings for Lord Pavus, I fear the Inquisitor and I will need to intervene.” Her sly smile told him she wasn’t joking._

_A blush crept across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. The sudden desire to flee made his feet itch. “I have no idea what you mean.” The words tripped over one another as they rushed out of his mouth._

_Josephine chuckled, her eyes turned down toward her desk as she shuffled papers. “Of course you don’t.”_

“I assume gratitude to the Inquisitor is in order?” Dorian drew Cullen out of his thoughts. Warm gray eyes, like the sky right before a summer storm, settled on him and threatened to make him blush. Thank the Maker for the cold wind that had already burned his face a healthy shade of pink.

“So, you like it? The idea I mean.” Cullen fought to keep his hand from his neck, instead resting it against the hand holding up Octavian. “Josephine said we could keep our office in the tower and—“

Dorian smiled again, this one reaching his eyes. “Don’t fuss. It’s perfect, Cullen.”

And despite the cold settling in with the sunset, Cullen felt his heart melt.


	10. Week 27 [part 1]

“Stare any harder and you might set it on fire.” Cullen chuckled as he fixed the collar of his jacket. He felt almost naked without his armor yet restricted by the tight sleeves and back this so-called fashion. He had been fixing his collar for nearly five minutes as his eyes wandered away from the mirror over to Dorian.

He lounged back in his chair dressed in fine, black robes held together by gold-colored thread. One sleeve was missing, revealing the tight muscles of his arm. The other was held firmly in its sleeve by a coiled, jeweled snake that must weigh a ton. It didn’t seem to bother the mage though as he balanced Octavian on his knee, his hand kept busy by holding on to a spare toy.

In his other hand was a letter. A messenger had brought it in nearly an hour ago and Dorian’s eyes hadn’t left it since. 

“I wish I could burn it,” Dorian said coldly, his eyes scanning the page for the hundredth time. “That is how these cults work. You cut the head off and two more sprout in its place.”

The news coming out of Tevinter was never good, but only seemed to get worse as the months dragged on. Tensions between the Imperium and Orlais were at an all time high. That was one of the driving motivations for hosting this gala, to possibly ease some tension between the two with the Inquisition mediating.

By the Maker, Cullen prayed that it worked. Too many nights Dorian sat awake in the early hours of the morning writing letters to his contacts, fussing over the state of his country, and when he thought Cullen wasn’t listening, muttering about how he should be at home, helping. And the thought of Dorian returning to Tevinter made his stomach twist in knots.

“At least these aren’t being spearheaded by an ancient darkspawn.”

Finally allowing his hands to fall from his collar, Cullen paced the room and checked the massive dresser that recently found its way into his office. It had been filled with various sets of baby clothing, changing supplies, and toys that had been accumulating over the past few months. It also took up far too much space and after this nonsense with the gala was over, they would have more than enough room to fit everything.

The office would return to being just that, an office.

He searched through the drawers, making certain that everything was in the right place for the nurse. 

With a glance out the window, Cullen fought the sinking feeling in his chest. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon and he could practically taste the electricity in the air. Vincent hated thunderstorms.

Noticing his distant stare, Dorian piqued up. “Calm down, Commander. The nurse can handle these two.” He placed the letter aside, adding it to the ever-growing pile. “I distinctly remember the Ambassador encouraging you to relax and enjoy tonight.”

Cullen snorted and rolled his eyes. “I should be guarding with my men, not playing noble at a fancy party.”

“The Inquisition does not need a commander tonight, but their Commander.” Dorian stressed the second title. “After the fall of Corphyeus and the good the Inquisition has been doing, it’s time to receive some recognition.”

“Can’t I just send you in my place and I stay here?” Cullen tried to bargain.

“And drink enough fine Antivan wine for us both? Tempting, but I need my wits about me tonight.”

Cullen couldn’t contain his chuckle. The sound was enough to convince Octavian and Vincent to begin giggling as well. And the Commander was glad to see the soft smile spread across Dorian’s face. “Shame then.”

A warm kind of quiet fell upon them as they moved about their activities. Dorian placed Octavian in the same cot as Vincent. They chatted in their own incomprehensible language as Vincent teetered confidently on shaking legs, gripping the bars to hold him up.

Dorian stole Cullen’s place in front of the mirror, adjusting the high collar of his robes and the gold sash across his chest and around his waist. 

Cullen tried to distract himself by organizing the piles of reports on his desk, but was drawn to watching Dorian’s reflection in the mirror. The man ran a hand through his finely coiffed hair, making sure it fell in just the right places. 

The Commander startled when their eyes locked in the mirror. “Something you want to say?” He said, a smile tugging at the ends of his mustache.

Plenty, Cullen thought. “No matter how much I try, I cannot fathom how a man takes so long to fix his appearance.”

The mage rolled his eyes. “Well, men of noble birth must pay close attention or be the laughing stock of the party. Not that you would understand.”

Cullen suppressed a flinch at the comment. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that as an insult. In truth,” Dorian turned away from the mirror toward him. “I am jealous at times. To grow up without a world of expectations placed upon your shoulders, must be nice.”

“I joined the Order at thirteen. It would be unfair to say there were never expectations placed upon me.” He waved a hand, 

“I suppose that is true.” Dorian laughed, but there was no humor in his eyes. “If my father had his way, I would be married to my betrothed with a few magelings running about as I sat in a façade of domestic bliss waiting to take my father’s seat in the Magisterium.”

“One out of three,”

Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t call it too soon. With your blood, they may not be mages at all.” A small, genuine smile returned to his face. “Lady Everens was chosen specifically for me from birth for the powerful magic that runs through her bloodline. And I go and ruin it by shacking up with some Ferelden dog lord. How would I love to see the look on my father’s face.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. The comment was meant in good jest, but knowing that didn’t keep it from stinging. “I apologize that I am not up to your ridiculous standards and tainting your pure Tevinter blood.”

“Nonsense. You have done our children a favor.” Dorian shrugged, crossing the room to swing Vincent up into his arms. “Where is your bloody nurse? The Inquisitor will have our hides if we are more than fashionably late.”

“So your father doesn’t know about them? I know you are in contact with him.”

“And you are in contact with your sister and haven’t told her.” Dorian snapped back without glancing in his direction. “Besides, if my father knew, his efforts to drag me back home would increase tenfold and he would try to take the twins as well.” The mage ran his fingers through Vincent’s hair, which was growing longer and longer by the day.

Cullen breathed shakily under the knot in his chest. “I would never allow that.”

“As I thought.” Dorian chuckled. He placed Vincent back down into the cot. “On that note, I should probably tell you—“

He was cut off midsentence as the door burst open and the nurse hurried in. “Apologies messeres,” She cried, face red in embarrassment. “I am late.”

“No need to apologize. I believe it’s appropriate to be fashionably late to these affairs.” Cullen said, and spent the next minute showing her the new locations of supplies. “We will be back late into the night.”

She nodded vigorously in understanding, and once he was satisfied, Cullen turned back toward the rest of the room to find Dorian already waiting outside the tower.

“I need my escort,” Dorian smirked, offering out his arm. Cullen tried to hide the flush that prickled at his cheeks as he took it.

“As you were saying?”

“Hm?”

They walked slowly toward the main hall. Cullen could already hear the muffled sounds of music and talk through the thick, stone walls. “You were about to say something before the nurse interrupted.”

“It can wait, don’t worry about it.”

And those words only caused Cullen to worry. Dorian had disappeared almost as soon as they arrived in the main hall, dragged off by Josephine to help mediate a heated discussion between some Tevinter ambassadors and an Orlesian noble.

Cullen kept to the walls, watching the party with a weary gaze. Familiar panic settled deep in his chest as slowly a crowd formed around him. Men and women alike preyed on him, their eyes dark and ravenous and crawling underneath his skin. 

He half-heartedly answered their prying questions as he searched for rescue. It arrived in the form of Dorian, half-tipsy with a glass of wine, dragging along a pretty woman behind him. “Scram, the lot of you. Let everyone have a chance with the Commander.” He said and Cullen fought against a scowl. 

When the grumbling nobles dispersed, it left Cullen, Dorian, and the strange woman alone in the corner he had claimed. “Not a moment too soon,” temporary relief washed over him.

“Commander, this is Lady Ava Fewell of Amaranthine.” Dorian gestured to the woman with a flourish and a smile. “We were talking and she is an absolute delight.” Lady Fewell giggled and blushed at the compliment. “I thought the two of you should meet.”

Cullen tried to keep his confusion off his face. Everything was a game to Dorian, and the Commander wasn’t able to understand his current strategy. Nonetheless, he bowed and smiled to the young woman. She was pretty with a slender figure, dark hair that reached the small of her back in long ringlets, and sharp blue eyes. 

However, in his eyes, she still paled in comparison when standing next to Dorian. His nose and cheeks were flushed with alcohol, a spark dancing in his grey eyes like he was harboring a secret. 

“Pleased to meet you.” He tried to appear interested for the sake of being polite, but Cullen still itched to be far, far away from the hall. Tonight, more than any other night, he wished to stay in with Dorian and the twins, reading in bed. Nothing sounded better.

Lady Fewell spoke, but it was lost on Cullen as he watched in despair as Dorian traipsed away to join a small cluster of chattering partygoers that included Varric and Vivienne. 

“Lord Pavus has told me you have two young ones?”

“Pardon?” Cullen’s attention snapped back to the conversation, a slight heat rushing to his cheeks.

“You have the distracted look of a father.” Her laughter was like little chimes. “I understand. I hardly enjoy being away from my daughter.”

A smile tugged at his lips. He would have never taken Lady Fewell for a mother, she was much too young, but he was happy for common ground. “I am always worried.” He chuckled. There was a faint rumble of thunder in the distance, nearly drowned out by the noise of the party. “And I get the feeling the nurse is getting an earful at this moment.”

“Good parental instinct.” She remarked, as if adding it to some mental checklist. “Hardly helps matters, does it not? Are you raising them alone?”

“No. I—“ 

“Lord Pavus remarked that you were not wedded.” Her gaze snapped to his hand and Cullen tucked it behind his back self-consciously.

“I—well—“ Cullen stumbled over a heavy tongue as words refused to emerge. His hand flew to the back of his neck, his eyes falling to the floor in a panic. “I am not and I fear—“ What did he fear? He clenched his right hand into a fist, wishing he could hold Dorian’s arm again for support.

As he continued to trip over words, he scanned the crowd for the black and gold robes. In the span of a few minutes, the mage had already crossed the room and put significant distance and bodies between them. However, Lady Fewell did not miss his desperate search.

“I can tell when my attentions are unwanted, Commander.”

Cullen turned back, an apology poised on his lips that was frozen by the smile on her face. Rather than seeming embarrassed or slighted, she appeared endeared by his awkwardness. 

When he remained silent, she continued. “If you are not seeking a companion tonight, you should probably inform Lord Pavus so. He has been speaking highly of you to any available lady willing to listen.”

“What?” His eyes flickered over to where Dorian was now surrounded by a gaggle of girls barely old enough to attend without escorts. He watched a single, tanned hand wave in his direction. “Why—“

There was a rush of noise as heavy rain hit the windows in sheets. A flash of lightning and a resounding boom followed, shaking the floor of the hall. No one at the party seemed phased. One individual even gave an exhilarated whoop in response to the crash.

“I apologize, but if you would excuse me.” Cullen darted through the crowd. Vincent was terrified of thunder and most certainly kicking up a fuss in the nurse’s arms. He couldn’t bare to stand around a party he had no interest in when he could be comforting his child.

Without a second thought, he hooked his arm with Dorian’s as he passed, stealing him away from the giggling crowd. He dragged the mage behind him through the rotunda. “Where are we going?” He asked lazily, stumbling as he was forced to walk backward.

“Get ready to be wet.”

“What?”

Cullen threw open the door against the rain, immediately soaking them both to the bone as they crossed the battlements. Dorian yowled like an angry cat, but allowed to be dragged to their office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for an abrupt ending but this chapter was already going on too long and I needed a chance to switch pov. The next chapter will pick up where this leaves off with Dorian's pov. 
> 
> Also, some serious thanks to everyone supporting this fic with your kudos and comments. I love you guys so much for loving this trash as much as I do. (:
> 
> I'm finishing up finals this week and then done with classes for the summer, so this will keep on updating.


	11. Week 27 [part 2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I wanted to start off with the fact that you guys are AMAZING. The response to this fic so far, for me, has been overwhelming and all of your comments just bring giant smiles to my face like thank you so much! Seriously!
> 
> Second, I apologize for how long it took for me to write this chapter. In the three weeks it took, I finished my finals, moved back home, started an internship, and went to ACEN, so I finally found time to finish this chapter. Hopefully the next few won't take as long, haha!

Thunder shook the battlements under his feet as Dorian fought desperately for purchase on the slippery cobblestone. The Commander had a hand firmly wrapped around his bare arm, burying sharp fingernails into his skin. To be honest, the mage felt like a scolded dog being dragged back to its kennel. How Fereldan. “What is this about?” He shouted over the rain, a fake drunken slur applied to his voice.

He had only been slightly tipsy, a shame but necessary due to his obligations, and the rain had sobered him up faster than a bucket of frozen water. The rain had soaked through his brand new formal attire and chilled him to the bone in the span of time it took them to cross the battlements to their office.

Cullen only shot him an exhausted look before swinging the tower door open. A furious howl drowned out all other sound. Vincent thrashed wildly in the nurse’s arms as she tried to bounce him into complacency.

“Give him here, Miah.” Cullen strode forward as Vincent desperately reached in his direction. The Commander shed his soaked crimson jacket to the floor before taking the caterwauling child into his arms.

The nurse, Miah (Dorian always blanked on her name), hesitated before handing him over. “Messeres, I thought you were not returning until late.” She said, arching an eyebrow as her gaze landed on Dorian.

He had slumped against the wall and busied himself with unbuckling the heavy, metal snake from his arm as he blistered under the heat of her eyes. 

“I heard the thunder and thought you would need help.” Cullen said, the volume of his voice slowly falling as Vincent was comforted by his father’s presence. Dorian felt his mouth twitch with the desire to frown.

“Was it necessary to drag me along as well?” He shot, a hot prickle of irritation passing underneath his skin. A thousand complaints rested on his tongue. His formal clothes were ruined, heavy chunks of hair had fallen onto his forehead, and he knew long streaks of kohl were gracing his cheeks. This gala was important, an attempt at peacekeeping between Orlais and the Imperium. Dorian thought himself an important player, he should be there—

“If I had known you were arranging my marriage, I would have pulled you away sooner.”

Dorian froze as the Commander spat the words. The wicked little hurt that refused to leave his stomach pulsed and made him nauseous. He was saved from having to devise a witty response (or worse an explanation) when rumbling thunder renewed Vincent’s wailing. And this time, Octavian who had been watching the proceedings and clipped voices with wide eyes from the floor, burst into tears as well.

Miah bustled over to him and swung the child into her arms, Dorian focusing his attention on her so it didn’t wander to the seething Commander. She balanced Octavian in her arms, wiping the tears from his face while she muttered something he couldn’t hear over Vincent’s screams. Dorian hated to admit it, but he turned a little green as Octavian quieted.

The nurse was a small woman, no older than either him or the Commander. Cullen knew more about her past than Dorian, but he was aware that she had lost her husband and child to the fighting in the Hinterlands. When she arrived in Skyhold with a group of refugees, she had found her role in childcare as she chased after the few children that had found their way there. And the way she gazed at Octavian, Dorian could see how much she loved her charges.

Dorian felt sorely out of place.

His wet, shaking fingers ceased in their efforts to release his arm from the metal trappings of the snake and sighed. “I can see my assistance is not needed,” at first, it appeared that his words were falling on deaf ears. “I should head back before I am missed.”

“Dorian.” 

The mage froze in his tracks as he clutched the frame of the door, his eyes trained on the rain that fell on the stones outside.

“Miah, you are excused for the night. Lord Pavus and I will be remaining here.”

“Commander, I don’t know—“ Miah started, but Dorian interrupted her.

“Nonsense, I am needed—“

Cullen rounded on him, the sudden movement startling Vincent into a new round of muffled hiccupping cries as he buried his face into Cullen’s shoulder. “No. You are needed here.”

Reluctantly, Miah handed Octavian over to Dorian. In silence, she gathered her cloak and pulled the hood over her head. “Goodnight, Messeres.” She said, returning a small wave to Octavian before disappearing out into the rain.

The door shut and Dorian prepared for the inevitable. They were now without an audience and the Commander could say whatever he liked. Except, it never came. Cullen only gave a heavy sigh as another flash of light lit up the window and the low rumble of thunder caused Vincent to whimper. “I need to change before I catch my death.”

“And whose fault is that?” Dorian couldn’t stop his mouth.

He only received a ‘not now’ glare in response. Still, Dorian took Vincent when he was offered forward and the Commander disappeared up into the loft.

They got ready for bed silently. Octavian watched with wide eyes from his cot as Vincent was passed back and forth when free hands were needed. And just as the storm began to quell, the moon poking out from the disappearing dark clouds, the rain began anew along with its own roll of thunder.

Vincent clutched at Dorian’s nightshirt, tears staining through the roughspun tunic he had long stolen from Cullen. “Shush mihi parvulus. The thunder cannot harm you.” He bounced the child. Each time the mage managed to calm Vincent, he tried to put him down in the cot beside Octavian, only to have the crying begin again as soon he pulled away his hands.

Cullen, who had been busying his hands with the scattered paperwork on his desk, crossed the room to pull a dozing Octavian into his arms. “We might as well take them up to the loft if we want to sleep.” Dorian followed him up the ladder. 

This would be one of the last times, Dorian mused. Their little hovel would be built and the loft emptied of its inhabitants. The boys would have a room that did not double as an office, no more soldiers marching through their doors while they tried to nap, and Dorian would return to having his own bed.

Sleeping alone.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. As much as he despised the idea, it was time to stop playing pretend.

Cullen was already stretched out onto his half of the bed when swung himself and Vincent off the ladder. Octavian was stretched out across his chest, fiery curls tickling at his chin, and a protective hand was stretched across the babe’s back. For a moment, Dorian hoped he could go to sleep without talking.

He curled up around Vincent, his face red but no longer crying. Dorian tried not to grimace at the snot that covered his chest. 

“Is everything a game to you Dorian?”

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut against the Commander’s voice, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to feign sleep. “Depends if I am winning, Commander.” He grumbled, and tried to ignore the hand that wrapped around his arm.

It wasn’t the death grip he had received earlier. Calloused fingers fluttered against his skin, the burning touch made Dorian want to pull away.

Cullen sighed. “Why were you—“ His voice faltered before collapsing under the weight of a sigh.

“Why was I what?”

“Don’t play innocent.”

Guilt twisted in Dorian’s stomach. “Understand that I had good intentions.”

“That means nothing. Why?” Cullen pressed, and Dorian cracked open an eye. He regretted it. 

He hadn’t expected the Commander to be staring him down. If he had, Dorian would’ve imagined angry flames flickering behind a glare. Instead, he stared into soft hazel, half-hooded with exhaustion and something else. Hurt?

“We cannot play at this charade forever, Commander.” Dorian said, running a finger through Vincent’s hair. His sniffles had died away to a soft snore. There was a rumble of thunder, but it was quiet and distant. “Children need a mother and I thought it would be best if you—“

“When did it become your responsibility to decide what is best for me?” Cullen demanded, his voice a harsh whisper and Dorian scrambled for an answer. He had none.

“I simply think that children need two parents. I never expected to ever sire children because I couldn’t provide them with—“

“Dorian,” the anger was gone and Dorian almost wished Cullen would shout at him. He knew how to handle anger. He knew how to be a disappointment. “You think too much. They have two parents, don’t ever believe otherwise.”

Cullen reached out and for a moment, Dorian almost leaned into the touch when the hand faltered. Those hesitant fingers slipped down and brushed a few stray hairs from Vincent’s face. 

“You want a family, Commander.” Earlier in the day, his plan had seemed like the best course of action. Cullen would meet some lovely lady who would fall madly in love with him and the boys. They could be a happy family. Dorian would still be there, he wasn’t going to leave now, but he would be like the uncle. There, but ultimately unimportant. The scene was much more picturesque than whatever was in this bed. Cullen had other ideas.

“And this is it. Dorian, believe me when I say I wouldn’t want it any other way. I know you’d never imagined this, but neither did I. The best we can do is work through it together.”

Dorian practically shook as he resisted the temptation to grab the man before him and hold him close. Here was everything Dorian never wanted being offered to him by a man Dorian thought he would never find. And, to his horror, Dorian found he desired this tiny, strange family more he had desired anything in his life.

Yet, he could only bring himself to watch as Cullen’s eyes fluttered with exhaustion before he shifted so he faced away and Dorian’s view was stolen. 

In an effort not to wake any of the bed’s sleeping occupants, Dorian scooted Vincent closer to Cullen’s side and exhaled in relief when none of them woke. He shifted out of the bed and slid down the ladder in a practiced motion. 

He snapped his fingers and brought a small plume of magelight to life. Shifting through the pile of letters on his desk, it was a minute before he found the one he was searching for. The paper was torn in the corners, mercilessly crumpled several times, and Dorian smoothed it out against his desk. His father’s sharp, heavy handwriting dented the page so he could feel the script on the other side. 

_‘I will be in Val Royeux. Do not force my hand in this matter, my son.’_

He would need to begin preparations in the morning if he wanted to make it in time.


	12. Week 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long, long, long overdue. And a relatively boring chapter meant to move the plot forward, we're getting there guys it's all gonna come together I promise eventually. Also, sorry it's unbeta'd so apologies for any mistakes.

“This will only be a moment,”

“Dagna, as much as I respect your research, I do not possess the time to partake in your experiment.”

“It’ll take two seconds, calm down snootybritches.”

“Did you get that name from Sera?”

Dagna chuckled, refusing to release Dorian’s hand as she dragged him toward the undercroft. “Perhaps. Great isn’t it?”

He had been on his way to see Master Dennett about a horse when the dwarven arcanist appeared out of nowhere and snagged him before he could protest. In the end, the mage resigned to his kidnapping with a sigh. “Can you at least tell me what is going on?”

“The Inquisitor asked me to study magical auras.” Dagna said, taking on an excited, breathless tone as her words began to run together. “Well, not in those words exactly. It was more along the lines of: find me a way to track down the last of those Venatori bastards so I can behead them personally with Shelia. That’s her axe, I think.”

Dagna was correct.

“So, I started considering of all the ways magic can be tracked. We can’t exactly get their blood to make phylacteries. But through my research I discovered that every mage has a distinct magical signature.”

“And you want to test mine?”

The dwarf beamed at him as he followed along. “Exactly. I also found a connection between that magical signature and the mage’s connection to the Fade. The stronger the signature, the stronger the connection.” She waved a hand as if the concept needed no further explanation. “And I wanted to test you because you’re—“

“In possession of blinding power? Magnificent magics never seen before?” Dorian mused, and grinned at Dagna’s exasperated sideways glance.

“You’re one of the few mages I can drag around without getting my eyebrows singed.” This was not said without a smile, as if the idea of getting her face partially burned was a pleasant one. “I’d rather spare Harritt the burning smell.”

Inside the undercroft, Harritt barely spared a glare in their direction before returning to the sword he was hammering. At least he didn’t spit at his boots. Dorian stumbled back as Dagna finally released his hand and forced him onto a worn, stone bench. He watched as she shifted through the numerous wicked-looking tools laid upon her workbench.

“So, how are the boys?” She asked cheerfully as she examined a serrated blade before placing it aside. Dagna was a favorite of the twins when it came to choosing babysitters, for reasons beyond Dorian’s comprehension. Maybe it was the cheerful smile. They were too young to understand the hint of madness hidden behind it. And she was just as interested in them. However, Dorian doubted their cute, chubby cheeks were the sole reason.

Dagna was a scientist first and foremost.

“They are well.” Dorian smiled, always ready to talk about Octavian and Vincent. “Very enthusiastic about noises now. We’re expecting a few first words.” He practically beamed at the announcement, no matter how small it was. Dorian had been trying his hardest the past week trying to coax something beyond babble from either twin.

That had resulted in his spending an hour making an utter fool of himself as he sat with Vincent repeating ‘Dada’ over and over. His efforts were fruitless as Vincent only giggled in response.

“They grow up so fast,” Dagna responded as she held a new tool aloft. Apparently satisfied, she turned around to face him. In her hands was what appeared to be a lyrium crystal wrapped in enough metal, glass, and runes that the dwarf handled the device without protection. “Auntie Dagna will have to visit soon.”

“As long as Auntie Dagna leaves all of her toys behind, then she is more than welcome.”

“Boo, you are no fun.” She smirked and crossed the room, motioning for Dorian to hold out his arms, palms up. 

When he complied, Dagna passed the lyrium crystal over his skin. There was a prickle underneath his flesh, like ants crawling through his veins, as the lyrium pulled at the magic in his skin. The runes on the casing glowed a brilliant gold, flaring blue as it passed over his fingertips.

The smile that crept over Dagna’s features told Dorian that this was a good thing. She repeated the motion a second and a third time, the light show was the same each time. When she was finished, she crossed the room and scribbled a few onto a piece of parchment.

“Any chance you can come back for a follow-up soon?” She asked, not glancing up.

“Why bother asking when you can drag me?” He chuckled, but it ended with a sigh. “I am leaving for Val Royeaux this morning. You delayed my departure, but I should return within the fortnight.”

A sly smile passed over Dagna’s features. “A little getaway for you and the Commander?”

Dorian spluttered, heat rising up to his face before he can stop it. “No.” He coughed into his hand, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Urgent Inquisition business.” That is the convenient lie he had told everyone who asked about his departure. It explained him leaving for Orlais without much notice and without escort. The Inquisitor was the only soul who knew the truth.

Dagna hummed as if she didn’t believe him, but nodded. “When you’ve returned and washed off the travel, come visit me.” She turned back to his desk before her eyes flitted across one of the numerous papers. “One moment, I need a favor—“

As Dorian left the undercroft, Dagna’s list of requested books in hand, he made a beeline for the stables. He had taken his pack down there earlier in the morning, but had returned to his quarters to fetch a few last necessities when Dagna had caught him. When he arrived, he had expected a single horse saddled and ready with his luggage.

He was not prepared for the covered wagon with two horses at the helm. And he stared wide-eyed, with a pang of betrayal, as Dennett stood speaking with a travel-ready Cullen. Missing his usual heavy armor, he worn simple leathers adorned with a ridiculous looking harness that strapped Octavian to his back. Vincent was balanced on his hip. Both were dressed in sturdy traveling clothes as well.

A pit formed in Dorian’s stomach.

“What are you doing here?” Dorian struggled to keep an accusatory tone out of his words. There was a squeal as Octavian swiveled to follow Dorian’s voice and chubby hands reached out toward him. Always quick to give in, the mage wrestled his child out of the ridiculous straps that rivaled his own outfit. 

Cullen flashed a ridiculously handsome smile, but Dorian felt the bite of anger behind it. “I heard from the Inquisitor this morning that you were leaving for Val Royeaux. I thought we could make a family trip out of it.”

_I’m making sure you are not running away_ , the message was clear as day to Dorian.

“This is ridiculous. The twins have never left Skyhold.” Dorian tried to object.

“They’re in good health and in need of a little adventure.” As if on cue, Vincent gave an excited cry from Cullen’s side as his eyes fell upon the horses. The little traitor. “Besides, the construction on our quarters is almost finished so the Inquisitor suggested looking at furnishings while in Val Royeaux.”

Dorian ground his teeth at the mention of the Inquisitor. How much else had she told Cullen? “And what of Miah? Is she attending this family outing as well?”

“She is staying here in Skyhold,” he went on to mention some family name as if Dorian would recognize it and their newborn child. It was nearly nine months after the fall of Corypheus and soon Miah’s efforts would be spread thin so the twins needed to—blah blah blah.

Dorian chose to ignore the rest as he helped load their luggage into the wagon. Worry gnawed at his stomach like a ravenous animal and tightened his grip on the twins as he clambered into the back with them. 

Cullen took the front, looking pleased to have the reigns in his hands. “Reminds me of when I was in Honnleath.” He said with a boyish grin that managed to make a dent in Dorian’s foul mood.

As the wagon began to move, Dorian situated himself against one of the sides, allowing the twins a view of the passing view. His anger at Cullen’s intrusion had ebbed away into dread. He wanted to ask the Commander how much he knew, but Dorian feared the assumptions the man might make if he knew the truth of this trip.

A heavy sigh escaped Dorian, distracting Vincent from the passing world. He wiggled around in the mage’s lap, staring up at him with round hazel eyes. Dorian managed to tug a half-hearted smile onto his face. “What is it little one?”

“Da.” A tiny hand patted at the side of his face, a smile beginning to fill with teeth beamed up at him.

With a gasp, Dorian turned toward Cullen only to see a smile already spreading up toward the blond’s ears.


End file.
